Why Memoir?

This may be a strange compound question from me, as I have been capturing a story of my own for a few years.  I think I’ve figured out a little more about why they are written, they seem to be therapeutic for the writer.  In my case it just happened.  Loss cracked me open and the words came out.  I started smearing these memories on paper and while watching them dry I found that preservation made me feel little better.  Discovery became compulsion and grew.  The spirit of my dog led me down this new path and I just kept going…

Why do people want to read Memoir?

Often I wonder why do strangers read other people’s life stories.  Many are tragic and share deeply painful moments.  Are readers looking for a similar experience while hoping to gain some insight?  Find hope?  Learn something?  Follow someone back from an edge?  Does a common thread need to pull them together?

For me these questions will hang on lines – like yesterday’s laundry in today’s rain, waiting for tomorrow.